No More Learning

The newcomers--H. D. , Alfred Kreymborg, and Edna St. Vincent
Millay--have taken their places with the same absence of judge or jury
that marks any "society of independents. " There is no hanging committee;
no organizer of "position. " Two years ago the alphabet determined the
arrangement; this time seniority has been the sole arbiter of
precedence. Furthermore--and this can not be too often repeated--there
has been no editor. To be painstakingly precise, each contributor has
been his own editor. As such, he has chosen his own selections and
determined the order in which they are to be printed, but he has had no
authority over either the choice or grouping of his fellow exhibitors'
contributions. To one of the members has been delegated the merely
mechanical labors of assembling, proof-reading, and seeing the volume
through the press. The absence of E. A. Robinson from this year's
_Miscellany_ is a source of regret not only to all the contributors but
to the poet himself. Mr. Robinson has written nothing since his
Collected Poems with the exception of a long poem--a volume in
itself--but he hopes to appear in any subsequent collection.
It should be added that this is not a haphazard anthology of picked-over
poetry. The poems that follow are new. They are new not only in the
sense that (with two exceptions) they cannot be found in book form, but
most of them have never previously been published. Certain of the
selections have appeared in recent magazines and these are reprinted by
permission of _The Century_, _The Yale Review_, _Poetry: A Magazine of
Verse_, _The New Republic_, _Harper's_, _Scribner's_, _The Bookman_,
_The Freeman_, _Broom_, _The Dial_, _The Atlantic Monthly_, _Farm and
Fireside_, _The Measure_, and _The Literary Review_. Vachel Lindsay's "I
Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry" is a revised version of the poem
of that name which was printed in _The Enchanted Years_.




CONTENTS


_A Foreword_ _III_

AMY LOWELL

Lilacs _3_

Twenty-four Hokku on a Modern Theme _8_

The Swans _13_

Prime _16_

Vespers _17_

In Excelsis _18_

La Ronde du Diable _20_

ROBERT FROST

Fire and Ice _25_

The Grindstone _26_

The Witch of Coos _29_

A Brook in the City _37_

Design _38_

CARL SANDBURG

And So To-day _41_

California City Landscape _49_

Upstream _51_

Windflower Leaf _52_

VACHEL LINDSAY

In Praise of Johnny Appleseed _55_

I Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry _66_

JAMES OPPENHEIM

Hebrews _75_

ALFRED KREYMBORG

Adagio: A Duet _79_

Die Kuche _80_

Rain _81_

Peasant _83_

Bubbles _85_

Dirge _87_

Colophon _88_

SARA TEASDALE

Wisdom _91_

Places _92_
_Twilight_ (Tucson)
_Full Moon_ (Santa Barbara)
_Winter Sun_ (Lenox)
_Evening_ (Nahant)

Words for an Old Air _97_

Those Who Love _98_

Two Songs for Solitude _99_
_The Crystal Gazer_
_The Solitary_

LOUIS UNTERMEYER

Monolog from a Mattress _103_

Waters of Babylon _110_

The Flaming Circle _112_

Portrait of a Machine _114_

Roast Leviathan _115_

JOHN GOULD FLETCHER

A Rebel _127_

The Rock _128_

Blue Water _129_

Prayers for Wind _130_

Impromptu _131_

Chinese Poet Among Barbarians _132_

Snowy Mountains _133_

The Future _134_

Upon the Hill _136_

The Enduring _137_

JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER

Old Man _141_

Tone Picture _142_

They Say-- _143_

Rescue _144_

Mater in Extremis _146_

Self-Rejected _147_

H. D.

Holy Satyr _151_

Lais _153_

Heliodora _156_

Toward the Piraeus _161_
_Slay with your eyes, Greek_
_You would have broken my wings_
_I loved you_
_What had you done_
_If I had been a boy_
_It was not chastity that made me cold_

CONRAD AIKEN

Seven Twilights _171_
_The ragged pilgrim on the road to nowhere_
_Now by the wall of the ancient town_
_When the tree bares, the music of it changes_
_"This is the hour," she says, "of transmutation"_
_Now the great wheel of darkness and low clouds_
_Heaven, you say, will be a field in April_
_In the long silence of the sea_

Tetelestai _184_

EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

Eight Sonnets _193_
_When you, that at this moment are to me_
_What's this of death, from you who never will die_
_I know I am but summer to your heart_
_Here is a wound that never will heal, I know_
_What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why_
_Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare_
_Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! _
_Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find_

BIBLIOGRAPHY _201_




AMY LOWELL




LILACS


Lilacs,
False blue,
White,
Purple,
Color of lilac,
Your great puffs of flowers
Are everywhere in this my New England.
Among your heart-shaped leaves
Orange orioles hop like music-box birds and sing
Their little weak soft songs;
In the crooks of your branches
The bright eyes of song sparrows sitting on spotted eggs
Peer restlessly through the light and shadow
Of all Springs.
Lilacs in dooryards
Holding quiet conversations with an early moon;
Lilacs watching a deserted house
Settling sideways into the grass of an old road;
Lilacs, wind-beaten, staggering under a lopsided shock of bloom
Above a cellar dug into a hill.
You are everywhere.
You were everywhere.
You tapped the window when the preacher preached his sermon,
And ran along the road beside the boy going to school.
You stood by pasture-bars to give the cows good milking,
You persuaded the housewife that her dish-pan was of silver
And her husband an image of pure gold.